Overlord

Prologue

Wilkes Land Crater, Antarctica, 1911

Michael Thornton questioned again the wisdom of the expedition as he trudged through the featureless white of the Antarctic. He was pretty sure he had frostbite in at least two toes. A permanent layer of ice coated his clothes, the fur lining of his thick hood, even his beard and mustache. His eyelashes waged a constant battle with the ice, and two frozen daggers of snot hung from his nostrils.

A layer of new snow crunched beneath his heavy boots as he winced into the frozen wind, flurries of blizzard regularly reducing visibility to little more than a few yards. Then there would be a momentary break in the weather, he would see across vast vistas of rough white landscape, and hope would briefly kindle, only to be extinguished as the landscape was obscured once more moments later. Despite those flashes of optimism, he wondered if he would ever see the rest of the party again. But at least he wasn’t alone.

He would never admit his fears to Gavin Lee, stumbling along beside him. He was grateful for his companion’s presence. A better man might wish Gavin the safety of the camp and the company of the rest of the scientific expedition, but Michael was terrified of being lost alone. Perhaps it was a strange way to think about things, but while he was desperate not to die out here, the thought of dying alone was infinitely more terrifying.

Gavin tripped, went down on one knee, his thick gloves sinking into the snow as he caught himself from falling flat on his face. The man stayed down, his back arching and sinking with labored breaths. Michael hauled his friend back to his feet, tried to flash an encouraging smile through the curtain of ice-flecked facial hair. Gavin gave a weak nod of thanks and pushed ahead again. He was stoic, no question about that. The expedition to investigate the possibility of volcanoes, or volcanic vents and potential magma deposits beneath the surface that might support life, had been met with a certain amount of ridicule by the scientific community. Nevertheless, Michael still believed in the project. He was certain the Antarctic held secrets that brave and determined men could reveal. The area of Wilkes Land Crater had seemed the best possibility during his research, and he maintained that conviction. Being caught in a sudden and unexpected blizzard while out on their own hadn’t been part of any plan, however. He gritted his teeth and pushed on. He could not die now. He refused to even consider it. There had been too much interest in Antarctica during the early years of the twentieth century and he’d be damned if he’d lose his opportunity after getting this far. All the recent treks to the South Pole looking for possible new sources of natural resources couldn’t be ignored. His would be successful. It had to be.

I’m not sure how long I can go on, Gavin shouted over the wind. Can’t feel anything below the knee.

Push on, man. Michael clapped him on the back. We must be getting near to the crater. Don’t quit on me! This weather will pass. The others will meet us at the destination. That was the plan if we got separated, remember?

Gavin nodded. Bloody ignominious way to die, from bad weather, he said with a wry laugh.

Well, it’s always the biggest danger down here, I suppose. But we won’t die. Not today. He hoped he wasn’t lying.

I always thought I’d be more likely to expire from a monster than a blizzard. Gavin grinned, his lips blue beneath a mustache that was as much icicles as hair. I really wanted to see the pyramids. He leaned forward as they pushed up a steep rise, the edges of the crest glimpsed occasionally through the swirling snow.

Gavin wanted to talk, Michael realized. Probably trying to keep himself distracted from the pain and exhaustion. It was a smart move. I know you believe all those old legends, Gav, but I really doubt they’re true. He would talk, but he wouldn’t give any credence to unscientific nonsense.

They reached the top of the rise and the blanket of white swept down from their feet, disappearing into the storm.

Better watch our step here, Michael said, straining to see the lay of the land.

They’re bloody real, Gavin said, almost too quietly to be heard.

What’s that?

Gavin pointed, out across the crater. We’re here! This is the Wilkes Land Crater.

Michael looked in the direction Gavin indicated, saw only thick clouds of snowflakes gusting in loops and whorls. I don’t see anything.

Just watch. Wait for a gap in the blizzard.

Michael strained to see something, anything within the cloud of white. He was about to question the man’s sanity when a break opened and he saw clear across the huge expanse. He gasped.

Do you see it? Gavin asked, more animated than he had been in hours. I’m not hallucinating, am I?

I saw... something. Michael frowned. Surely they had been mountains. Strangely regular in size and shape, with weirdly straight edges, perhaps. But surely natural. They had to be.

I think the storm is passing, Gavin said.

He appeared to be correct. The two men stood at the ridge, patient as the howling wind dropped to patchy gusts over the course of a few minutes, then to little more than an intermittent breeze. The flurries of snow thinned, even occasional shafts of sunshine breaking through brief rents in the thick cloud cover. After a few more minutes, the blizzard had stopped completely and they stood staring across a wide bowl of featureless white.

They’re real, Gavin said again.

Michael couldn’t believe he was looking at pyramids, thickly covered in snow, but the shape was unmistakable. Surely just oddly shaped mountains, he said. There must be a geological explanation for them.

Gavin shook his head. They look like pyramids to me. That can’t be more than a mile, don’t you think? Let’s check them out.

Michael could think of no reason not to. The rest of the expedition hadn’t yet arrived, but this crater was the meeting point, so they would surely be here soon. Unless they had fared worse than Gavin and himself. He chose not to continue that train of thought for the moment. They could investigate the strange range and keep an eye out for the arrival of their friends at the same time.

With renewed vigor, they crunched across the fresh snow. As they approached the pyramids, looming high above them, Michael still couldn’t tell if they were man-made or not. The edges revealed themselves to be less regular under the snow as they neared, the overall shape less defined up close. But was that the natural weathering of a man-made shape over millennia, or had Mother Nature’s hand sculpted a natural, vaguely pyramidal shape into something more refined?

Look there. Gavin pointed.

An opening lay shadowed against the relentless white. It appeared to be a cave of some kind. A fissure in the rock, heading into darkness. Snow whipped up again, the blizzard beginning to gain a second wind.

It’s shelter, at least, Michael said.

The two men headed into the cave, wincing against the renewed gale and blustering snow. Once they entered the blessed safety, still and quiet at last, Michael realized his exhaustion again. His legs ached, his toes burned with possible frostbite, his whole body trembled with fatigue. He sat down to rest, about to call his friend to rest beside him. But Gavin was clearly renewed, fueled by wonder at the bizarre discovery.

This goes deeper, he said, taking a few steps into the darkness. He pulled out a flashlight, the remarkable portable device invented by David Misell only a dozen or so years previously, and shined it down the length of the shadowed passage. A long way deeper!

Sighing, Michael hauled himself back to his feet and followed. The last thing they needed was for the two of them to become separated. We’ll check a little way, but not too far, he said. We can come back properly equipped once we’ve rejoined the rest of the team.

They wound deeper into the cave as it gradually sloped downward. As they descended, it grew warmer. At first Michael thought it was simply a matter of getting out of the wind, but the rise in temperature seemed greater than that would account for. Was it too much to hope that the theory about volcanic vents might hold true? That it might be this easy to prove?

You feel that? he asked. The warmth?

Gavin came to a sudden halt. Look there.

It took Michael a few seconds to accept what he was seeing. Lines had been carved into the frost-encrusted rock up ahead.

It looks like cave paintings, Gavin said.

Pictographs, Michael corrected, not sure he believed it even though he saw quite clearly the distinct designs. It almost resembles language of some kind.

They moved closer, Gavin playing his flashlight beam slowly left and right. It’s remarkable. But who...?

With a crack and a sudden, stomach-churning lurch, the floor gave way beneath them. They half-tumbled, half-slid in the darkness, Gavin’s flashlight flying free from his grasp and blinking out as it bounced end over end.

In the sudden blackness, Michael lost all sense of time and distance. He wondered briefly if perhaps they’d fall into darkness forever, then he slammed into something unforgiving and everything went black.

As consciousness slowly returned, bringing with it a pounding headache, Michael pulled himself into a sitting position. He swallowed down a wave of nausea. He scanned his surroundings and his eyes fell on Gavin.

His companion spun around, excitement clear in his wide eyes and eager grin. You’re awake! Good to have you back.

They were in a massive cavern, dark gray rock curving up and away from them. Michael realized he was seeing that without the aid of flashlights. Why can I see? His voice was a little slurred, as though he were drunk. His words blared in his ears like a trumpet. He pressed his fingers to his temples and let out a low groan. He felt hungover, and wished he were inebriated instead. He probably had a concussion. Not good. Not good at all.

Yes, it’s this odd growth on the walls.

Michael blinked, his vision slowly regaining a sharper focus. Glowing softly green, vein-like striations wound across the cavern like twisting vines. Michael almost imagined the weak light pulsing, as if blood pumped through from some distant, subterranean beating heart. Deposits of a strange, neon green crystalline substance punctuated the walls between the vines.

Michael pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the headache and nausea, the incredible sights before him taking over his thoughts. He looked closer, and saw the veins appeared to be organic, perhaps some kind of lichen or mold. It was pliant beneath his finger as he pressed it and his glove came away with a pale green luminescence that quickly faded. He broke off a small protuberance of rock containing a similarly-glowing piece of the crystal. It took some little effort, but snapped after he applied strong leverage with his gloved fingers. Using his teeth, he pulled the glove from his other hand and dug into the deep pocket of his jacket for a small sample jar no bigger than a standard test tube. He carried half a dozen, thankfully unbroken from the fall. He put the sliver of rock and crystal inside and screwed the lid back on tightly, then returned the slim jar to his pocket.

As he tugged his glove back on, they began to explore further. The space was huge, stalactites extending down from above, gently dripping, the water echoing quietly as it fell. They made their way around large stalagmites, stepped over small pools of gathered water that was not frozen. Realizing that, Michael checked and discovered no frosty patches on the walls. The temperature in the place obviously remained above freezing, much warmer than the many degrees below zero outside. He paused to take a sample of the water.

As they resumed their trek, a feeling of wrongness crept over him. He felt like an intruder in an alien world. Everything around him was gently lit by the glowing pale green of the viney growths, the shadows where the light didn’t reach inky black in contrast.

On the far side of the cavern, they found a strange door. It was a solid slab of shiny black rock, like a kind of obsidian, carved with a strange script unlike anything Michael had ever seen. No, scratch that. Unlike anything he had seen except the markings in the cave before they fell. He’d only had a brief look at the pictographs up above, but he was certain they strongly resembled the marks he now inspected. And it was far too neat to be anything but deliberately fashioned. It had to be language. This isn’t possible, he whispered.

And yet here we are, Gavin said. His excitement had given way to trepidation, the concern clear in his voice.

Michael was glad to hear the fear there, because he thought they should both be alarmed by these discoveries. As he stared at the door, the sense of wrongness, of alien-ness, grew stronger.

How can there be a door down here, far beneath the surface of the Antarctic? Michael asked. How far did we fall? It seemed like a long way.

Gavin didn’t answer, just ran his gloved fingers over the carved symbols.

We should go back to where we fell in, Michael said. Try to climb our way back up and find the others. Then we can return and explore properly.

Again, Gavin said nothing. Then he put both hands to the door and leaned his weight into it.

What are you doing?

But Gavin gave no indication he was even aware of Michael’s presence. He threw his shoulder against the door. With a loud scraping, it slid open. Gavin  headed through. Michael called for him to come back, but was again ignored. Hardly any of the glowing crystal or vines lit the passage beyond, and Gavin slowly vanished into blackness.

Biting down his annoyance, Michael followed. Perhaps it was simple fear, or maybe the recent blow to the head, but the darkness seemed alive, as though it were squeezing him. Gavin! Michael called, but felt unable to raise his voice to a shout. He saw movement up ahead. Gavin, he said again, grabbing at his friend’s coat, but Gavin jerked his arm free and kept going.

What’s got into you, man? Michael said. He took a step to follow, then heard a soft whick. Warm wetness covered his face in a sudden spray and he tasted a metallic flavor that could only be blood. Bladder loosening, spreading warmth down his leg, he stumbled back, patting himself all over to be sure he wasn’t injured. As he moved quickly backward, returning to the low light of the glowing cavern, he saw a stone the size of a bowling ball bounding toward him from out of the darkness. As the stone rolled over, he saw it wore Gavin’s face. Not a stone at all, but Gavin’s head, neatly separated from the rest of him.

Michael cried out, caught a glimpse of Gavin’s body being dragged down the tunnel into the dark. In the half-light he saw what had hold of his friend, and he let out a throat-rending scream. Blinded by panic, he turned and ran.

1

Cape Town, South Africa, today.

Sam Aston swam with his legs only, letting his arms trail as he curved around a rock and over a bed of brightly colored coral. Hundreds of small fish darted past, then shifted direction in that mesmerizing way, as if they each shared a small part of a single brain, able to make a unified decision. Aston enjoyed the embracing silence,  but for the bubbles of his respirator rising up, glittering in the light. The cool water calmed him. Here he was at peace.

A sleek gray bull shark moved down from above, heading directly for him. Then another. From his left, two more approached, silent, deadly, relentless. Aston reached into a large net sack at his belt, pulled out a fish, its head removed. He lofted it in the water and into the waiting maw of the nearest shark. As the others drew closer, circling, he took out more fish, feeding casually left and right. He raised one hand, covered in a light chainmail glove, and waved to the gawping crowd in the dim light on the other side of the aquarium glass. Sometimes, if he didn’t look in that direction, he could almost believe he was back in the open ocean.

But the illusion was always shattered when he had to leave the huge tank, if not before. The job was good, he got to work with the animals, caring and feeding, even taking part in a little research. But it was a big step down from the career he had left behind after the events at Lake Kaarme. He couldn’t use his extensive marine biology qualifications any more than he could use his real name. Not until Chang was paid off, the mobster back in Australia still out for Aston’s blood. On this salary, that wouldn’t be any time soon. Maybe one day Sam would save up enough to cover that black market debt and he’d be able to resume some semblance of a normal life.

He finished the feeding show, waved to the tourists and watched them drift away, disappointed. He didn’t know what they expected, but they always seemed to think it was somehow an anti-climax. They probably hoped the tank’s inhabitants would turn on him, take off limbs in clouds of blood like a scene from Jaws.

He lingered in the water as long as he thought he could get away with, then made his way back to the small ladder leading out of the huge tank, into the area out of bounds to the public. As he stepped into the noise of purifiers and filters, kicking off his fins, he saw Ashley Carter walking toward him. The way she moved her hips was enough to make his knees weak, not to mention everything about the rest of her. He’d asked her out a couple of times, but she’d always made some excuse, even while she gave him a sly smile. He got the feeling she wanted him to work for it, but wasn’t going to make it easy for him. He would ask one more time, though he would also be careful not to act like a dick. If she refused him again, he’d back off. Maybe those smiles were just her trying to be polite while she had no intention of ever agreeing to a date. Sometimes it was hard to tell. But maybe now she had found him alone, out of sight of staff and public alike, for a reason. Perhaps she’d decided to take matters into her own hands.

She stopped halfway across the large room. There you are, Pete. You have a visitor.

Aston did his best to mask his disappointment. What a fool. He really ought to know better. Who is it?

What am I, your secretary? Bob told me to come get you. There’s a visitor. Before he could answer, she smiled and walked off.

There it was again, that cheeky grin she always gave him. Surely she was playing games. So be it, he’d play along. But the idea that he had a visitor put him a little on edge. No one knew him here, even under his fake identity, let alone as Sam Aston.

He changed into his aquarium shirt and chinos, stowed his SCUBA gear, and headed out to the staff office. Bob was nowhere in sight, but a man in a tailored suit sat on the faux-leather lounge reserved for visitors. He was tall, and filled the suit with muscle rather than fat, and had a strong, confident face under a close crop of salt and pepper hair. Aston thought the guy had a kind of ex-military vibe about him, and found that unsettling.

He reached out a hand to shake. I’m Pete Cartwright. You wanted to see me?

The man stood, smiling warmly. I’m Solomon Griffin, but everyone calls me Sol. It’s nice to meet you, Sam.

Every warning nerve in Aston’s body fired at once, adrenaline racing into his system. His hand felt suddenly trapped in the vice of Griffin’s giant paw. Was this another of Chang’s goons? How had they found him here? He had figured Cape Town was about as far from both Australia and Finland as he could get. His left fist clenched, ready to knock the guy on his ass if need be.

Sol obviously saw the concern in Aston’s face. Not releasing the handshake, he gripped Aston’s forearm with his other hand, but the touch was comforting rather than aggressive. Relax. Your secret is safe.  Can I buy you a cold one?

Aston didn’t like any of this, but one thing he definitely needed was more information. Even though he had finished for the day, this Solomon Griffin didn’t need to know that. I’m only on a break, but I have time for a cup of coffee. We can go to Café V. It’s right here in the aquarium.

Sol flashed his warm smile